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Wonderful, perfect, healthy breastfeeding. Or at least that’s how I see it. I am a huge advocate for breastfeeding. (Don’t worry. I will never shame anyone for formula feeding.) It is, however, my hope that every woman who gives birth to a child at least tries. (Again, just my hope, not mad if you don’t.)
I love the bond that breastfeeding gives you and your baby. It’s a feeling I can’t describe. It’s a release of happiness and love. Knowing that your body is giving this baby everything he/she needs to stay healthy.
Here’s the thing. I love breastfeeding but there are some downsides. Everyone tells you what I just told you above, but rarely mention the other parts! So below I will give you a few examples of what’s actually going to happen, or at least what happened to me.
If you come across any problems, breastfeeding, whether it be; baby not latching, pain, or any other problem. I strongly suggest contacting a lactation consultant! DO NOT BE AFRAID TO ASK FOR HELP! These women are AMAZING! They are angels sent down from Heaven to help you and your baby! If you ever feel like giving up just call one of these ladies and they will help you through any problems!
These are only just a few problems you will come across when breastfeeding. I’m sure I will be writing about 1,000 more posts on this subject alone. Do you have any breastfeeding stories? Any embarrassing times you sprung a leak? Tell me about it in the comments!
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Potty training: One of the hardest parts of having a toddler. When our son E was about 20 months old, we went into full potty training mode. We read all of the books and articles; talked to friends who were parents of both boys and girls; we got all of the best advice. When we felt we had done our due diligence, we dove in.
We decided to go the route of letting him run around naked. Completely ‘butt-neked’. He picked up on potty training pretty quick. I only had to scrub pee out of the floor and break out the Febreze a few times. In my world, I call that a win.
Even though he was doing pretty well, we still let him run around naked. It was convenient for him. He could just run to his potty without having to notify us. Let’s be honest. What toddler doesn’t love running around completely nude? It was a freedom for him, a freedom he had never known before.
One day, E and Daddy were playing. They were rolling around on the floor, playing like boys do. Daddy was laying on the floor and E was standing on top of him. All of the sudden, I hear Daddy start to scream. A scream that you don’t normally hear out of a grown man. He jumps up off of the floor, and continues to scream.
I look at E, and he is sitting on the floor laughing.
Me: What happened?
Daddy: AAAGGGGHHHHH YUCK AAAHHHH $&%*!!!
Me: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHAT?!
Daddy: He peed!!!
Daddy: HE PEED IN MY MOUTH!!!
That is when my supermom parenting skills kicked in. I handled the situation with grace and maturity.
Just kidding. I was in the floor within seconds, laughing so hard I could hardly breathe.
Poor E, just couldn’t quite control his wee. He was having too much fun and unaware he was about to give Daddy a little golden shower. When you gotta go, you gotta go, right?
My poor husband spent an hour brushing his teeth. At some point, I think he swished with bleach. By that time I had already peed my pants from laughing so hard. I do feel bad for Daddy, but better him than me.
Do you have potty training horror story? Tell me in the comments?
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I used to take my son to a playgroup for children three and under. I was trying to do my duty of being a good mom by not turning my son into a complete recluse(like his mother). It appeared to be working as E was very social at that time. One special day, a couple of kids showed up. E was by far the youngest, only being one.
There was a mom who brought her mother and a friend along. They sat in the corner talking; ignoring the kids the entire time. They were constantly swearing and kept going outside to smoke. I was irritated, but I thought maybe they were having a bad day. I just kept engaging with the children.
Finally, it was time to go outside. E grabbed a ball and was playing by himself. I stood back a little bit to give him free range. Then the little girl of the swearing mom came up to him. Let’s call her Rosie(she reminded me of a mini version of Rosie O’Donnell).
Rosie, who was about 3 but looked about 5, approached E and grabbed the ball from him. She took off with it, and E just stood there unsure of how to react. I gave him a second to see how he would handle the situation. I look over at Rosie’s mom, Ms. McSmokeface, who hadn’t even looked up to notice that her daughter just stole a toy from a little boy.
I decided to approach Rosie.
“Rosie, that wasn’t very nice, if you want to play with the ball you need to ask E if you can play with it. Please give it back to E.” I don’t know what the rules are on approaching other people’s children, but since her mother did nothing, and my son was so much younger I decided to say something. Not like Ms. McSmokeface even noticed.
Rosie gave the ball to E and stood by him as if she were going to play with him. I gave them some space again. I was thinking everything was fixed, and they would play together! Wrong. Little Rosie walked up to E, took the ball from him, and shoved him down!
I instantly “she-hulked” My eyes turned a dark shade of green. My muscles grew so big that my shirt was ripping, and veins were popping out everywhere. I was PISSED. I turn to look at Rosie’s mom while growling and foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog. She saw the entire thing and what did she do? She turned back to her friend and continued to talk. Something snapped inside of me, and I turned into the Mom-ster that no one should ever have to see.
I started walking towards Rosie, banging my fists against my chest like a wild ape. Helicopters swarmed the skies with snipers ready to shoot. The National Guard rolled in driving huge tanks, ready to put the beast down.
The friend of Ms. McSmokeface knew it was about to go down. She grabbed Rosie’s mom by the arm and made her walk over to Rosie. They must have seen the look in my eye, and started to run to Rosie.
Ms. McSmokeface’s friend, told Rosie, “That wasn’t nice, you need to say sorry,” and that was the end of it.
Rosie didn’t say sorry.
McSmokeface didn’t apologize.
I believe steam was coming out of my ears, and I could feel words coming to my mouth that should never be spoken in front of children. I picked up my son, who was staring at me wondering why I had turned into the incredible hulk, and we left.
I’m not the perfect mom, some situations I just can’t handle with grace and class. My way of handling this situation was turning into a wild animal, running circles around the kids all while foaming at the mouth.
Some of this post is contradictory to my post “Stop the Hate.” The name calling that appears in this post are for humor purposes only, to explain how I felt during this situation.
Have you ever been in a situation where your mama bear instinct kicked in? Have you ever “she-hulked?” Let me know below! I won’t judge you!
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Poop is a subject no one wants to talk about, yet it is something we all do. Stinky, nasty, poop.
Let’s take a minute and talk about the hardest poop of a new mother’s life. That first poop. The first poop after you finally push that giant bundle of joy out of your hoodie hoo (or have it cut out of your tummy.) If you have given birth, you know what I am talking about. Yeah, THAT poop. Before becoming pregnant, you hear all of the horror stories. “I tore and got 4,325 stitches” or “I was in labor for 40 days and 40 nights and ended up with an emergency c-section,” but they all end the same way. “As soon as I held that beautiful baby in my arms all of the pain disappeared.” That really is true. You don’t notice your guts hanging out, or your vag is tore to shreds. You just know you have that perfect little human in your arms, but that’s where the stories stop. They don’t tell you what happens once you are home.
You get home, you are sore, tired, and trying to figure out life with that new baby. It’s been a couple of days and you notice that ache in your tummy. You think to yourself “When was the last time I pooped? Have I been taking my stool softeners? I don’t even know what year it is anymore, let alone the last time I took my meds or took a massive poopie.” So, you pop a couple of stool softeners, what’s the worse that could happen?
Okay, it’s coming, poop time. Your baby starts to scream, and your husband is nowhere to be found. Alright, give the baby a boob then go poop. Nope, it’s coming now, you are prairie doggin’. Alright, the baby must come with to the toilet, he/she can nurse, you can poop, it has to happen. You know it’s gross but there is no other option. All you need to do now is just give a little push and all will be…OH MY GOD, WHAT IS THIS PAIN?! Holy crap, I feel like Darth Vader just jumped out of the toilet and cut my cooter open again with his lightsaber. I have to poop so bad, how do I do this?? I’m on the toilet, nursing my baby, crying from pain, trying to poop. I think to myself, I can do this, I am one tough biotch, ain’t no sore coochy gonna stop me from getting that sweet relief that I so deserve. Little push, ow, little push, oh, sweet baby Jesus it’s happening, Tears of joy, run down my face.
Fast forward to the middle of the night, when you are again, breastfeeding your baby. Then it really hits, your stomach growls so loud the neighbor’s dog started howling. You run into the bathroom, trying to pull down your pants. Explosion city starts to happen before you can even sit all of the way down. Lord almighty, those stitches are torn now. I probably should have only taken one stool softener. Lesson learned.
Two hours pass, and I am finally done. My poor bum. My poor va-jay-jay. My poor toilet.
So, if you are expecting a baby anytime soon, just keep this in the back of your mind. It’s going to happen. It’s probably going to hurt, but you just have to poo.
Did this happen to you? Tell me your horror stories below!
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Sweaty, dirty, crazy, fun sex.
Or so it used to be before children. Before having beautiful little snot monsters, before shredded vaginas, or cut open tummies, we used to enjoy sex. We used to enjoy getting wild in the spur of the moment. Now it’s an entirely different story.
Now, we need about a week to physically and mentally prepare ourselves. I mean, last time I shaved my legs? Judging by the length of the hair, I’ll say it was when my first was born. Two years ago. Okay, maybe not that bad, but it is pretty bad.
Not just the hair, I also don’t like my body anymore. (Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of my tiger stripes and wouldn’t change them for the world.) I don’t like myself naked right now. My hairy, flabby, exhausted, sometimes smelly, self. The fact that I look like a real life version of Chewbacca doesn’t exactly make me feel desirable anymore.
Let’s just for a minute pretend that I do get to take a nice long shower all by myself (HA!), and I’m able to shave every hairy spot and scrub off all of the boogers and spit up that coat my body, that is one problem solved.
Great. Let’s go to the next problem.
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Kids. The kids that keep me up all night long. The kids that never sleep. How am I supposed to get myself in the mood for some hanky panky when I have two little poop machines constantly attaching themselves to me? After corralling them all day long, scrubbing poop out of the carpet, and just generally trying not to lose my mind, how am I supposed to say, “Ya, I’d love to have sex now, I’m so relaxed.” When was the last time my husband and I were alone? I can’t even tell you. Or even both children asleep at the same time? Call me crazy but sneaking into the other room while one or more of my children are awake is not exactly ideal. The thought that they could just walk in on us and scar their poor little brains for life is kind of a turn off.
Another problem, sore va jay jays and leaky boobs. I’ll group these into one problem. One massive problem. After pushing out babies who ripped you open from butthole to elbow, normally you aren’t thrilled to jump back into the sack anytime soon. For some of us it takes an entire YEAR before we are ready to even try to have sex; and when we do, it HURTS! I really don’t want to do the dirty when it feels like my hoo-ha is being stung by a hive of angry wasps. Then, if you are still nursing your baby, you have to worry about leaky, sore boobs. Nothing is sexier than having boob juice leaking between your bodies causing wet, warm, stickiness.
Basically what I’m saying is, sex is different after you become a mom. I am sure not everyone out there feels the same. Some of you probably have magical vaginas that shoot rainbows out and heal instantly, and some of you have the sex drive of a teenage boy. To you, I say, Good for you and your magic peaches. For the rest of us, just hang in there, sisters. It will probably get better, someday. I hope.
I want to hear from you, do you have a magical vagina? How long did you wait to have sex? How do you make it work? Tell me in the comments!
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